


Marred by Memories

by aleighcarlisle



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Feelings, Hurt/Comfort, Lots of Touching, Memories, Scars, Touch-Starved, post battle of king's landing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-31
Updated: 2020-05-31
Packaged: 2021-03-03 01:54:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,561
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24476812
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aleighcarlisle/pseuds/aleighcarlisle
Summary: Jaime and Brienne comfort each other after the events of the Battle of King's Landing.
Relationships: Jaime Lannister/Brienne of Tarth
Comments: 10
Kudos: 98





	Marred by Memories

**Author's Note:**

> I've written for a couple of other fandoms but this is my very first Jaime/Brienne fic. Please be gentle.

The candlelight flickered against the thread-bare tent as Brienne strained to get a better look at Jaime's arm. With a needle in hand, she took to prodding his tender skin to remove tiny splinters from his stump. 

Jaime hissed, jerking his arm from her grasp as she removed a large piece from deep within the skin. "Would you sit still?" Brienne quietly scolded, pulling his arm tighter. 

"But it hurts," Jaime whined, biting back a wince. 

Brienne bit back a soft smile, "Ser Jaime Lannister, slayer of the mad king, the golden lion of the rock, and warrior of the Long Night, felled by firewood."

Rubbing his tender skin, he growled in return, "Well, we can't all have noble jobs like you, my lady. Though if asked again to choose between moving bodies or gathering wood, I'd still choose the latter," he nudged her gently with his stump, "splinters and all."

It had been just over two weeks since King's Landing had been sacked. Leveled to ash and rubble. One week since Brienne wearily marched into camp, fearing what she might find amongst the carnage when the smoke cleared. 

Nightmares had plagued her for days after he left her in Winterfell, growing in gruesome detail with each passing night. In her mind, she could see him clearly, golden hand reaching out from the rubble, head gently cradled on his sister's chest as they clung to one another in death.

With guidance from a weary Davos, she had found Jaime picking through the stone of the Red Keep. Covered in blood and soot, she almost mistook him for a boy, small and frail from behind. His golden hand was gone, his clothes torn and singed in places, his exposed skin blistered from intense heat. 

He would later confess to her with wild eyes that he watched Cersei fall. After begging her to surrender, she had refused him, her intensity manic. Striding across the room to retrieve a wine glass as if she could not hear the sound of her people burning alive. The dragon had clipped the Tower of the Hand, sending the heavy stone crashing into the holdfast. Jaime had been thrown back from the force, and Cersei disappeared as the stone beneath her crumbled.

He had looked so lost when she found him. Unable to speak above a weak croak, he was turning stones over with his stump, attempting in vain to search for life beneath the Red Keep. 

He had sobered up since she'd arrived, going away inside as he pushed the trauma to the recesses of his mind. He had remained busy, completing any task he was given and resting only when his body betrayed him into sleep. 

They found themselves in a small encampment just outside the Iron Gate. Though the White Sword Tower and Maidenvault remained untouched by the fires of battle, Jaime refused to rest within. Whether motivated by guilt or fear, she did not know. 

Grabbing a poultice from the bedside, Brienne grabbed his stump once more, beginning to knead the sensitive skin in firm strokes. Jaime lay against the blankets closing his eyes as she went through her ministrations. His chest was bare, his thin frame exposed to the warm air. The seasons were changing, and the chill that had made its way south had all but disappeared. A heaviness lingered in the air. The ash had created a haze upon the city, falling like snow and trapping them beneath a tent of immense humidity.

Jaime had taken to stripping to his smallclothes upon entry into the tent. She stared longingly. Her once demure glances had changed to desire, though she chastised herself for entertaining such thoughts as he suffered. 

His breathing had slowed and evened, left hand pressed to his heart, relaxed and safe in her presence. Brienne took her time, her movements practiced. Fingertips making a trail around his stump, as her eyes made a similar journey down his body. 

His golden locks, once pure and shining, now dark and peppered with gray. His beard had grown longer since Winterfell, the short prickling hairs now smooth and soft to the touch. His collarbone stood shockingly prominent beneath his shoulders. The hard lines on his body, evidence of malnutrition, and intense stress. Scars and bruises marred his torso, his imperfections on display, unabashedly before her.

"Beautiful," she breathed, before kissing his stump softly and laying his arm at his side. Rising to ready for bed, Brienne turned away from Jaime, putting away the poultice and placing his discarded shirt on the bedside chair. While ensuring the tent flap was tightly secured, Brienne could hear a familiar refrain outside. 

The faint wails of mourners in the distance, continuing grief as more bodies were discovered beneath the city. The drunken laughter of soldiers imbibing to keep the terrors of the night at bay. 

She could feel heat spread through her body from moans of pleasure in the distance as people sought comfort in each other's arms.

Unbuttoning her shirt to allow the breeze of the night air to cool her skin, a coarse voice whispered in return, "Beautiful." 

Jaime didn't need to see her face to know the hardening of her jaw at his words. The stiffening of her shoulders bracing for the inevitable jape to follow. Turning to face him, Brienne drew her open shirt tightly across her chest.

Jaime patted the covers, inviting her to return to her seat beside him. Brienne reluctantly complied, perching on the edge of the bed.

"No," he admonished, "Come here." 

Knowing full well, there was little room for her to lay beside him, he meant for her to sit astride him. 

"I'm strong enough," he reminded her before she could refuse.

Brienne acquiesced and closed her eyes as his stump traced the line where her skin met the collar of her shirt. Lightly dancing across her skin, he came to the scars across her neck. Taking his time, he traced each one clumsily. The remnant of the poultice leaving a cool path with its touch. 

"We make a handsome pair, my lady." 

She opened her eyes to find his face devoid of amusement. A hard-line had formed on his brow as he swallowed thickly. Before he could draw his stump away, she grabbed it and kept it pressed firmly to her neck, kissing it reverently. 

She whispered softly, "Scars are just another type of memory. We do well to remember them."

Jaime nodded, a soft groan escaping his lips as her hand began to roam his chest. Her exploration ceased as she reached his collarbone to trace a thick scar than ran from his shoulder to his back. 

Reading the question in her eyes, he spoke softly. 

"We used to play amongst the cliffs at the Rock. With Mother gone, we would escape the servants and do what we pleased. Father couldn't be bothered to look after us." Jaime swallowed hard as he met Brienne's stare. 

"Cersei told me she wanted to jump from the cliffs but was too frightened to do it alone. She mocked me at my hesitance, and you know I've never been one to stand down from a challenge. We counted together and ran for the cliff's edge. I jumped, only realizing I had jumped alone when I heard her laughing as I fell. My shoulder caught the sharp edge of the rock facing as I hit the shallow water. Father was absolutely monstrous over the whole ordeal." His eyes look down at the offending spot as she traced it. 

"Cersei could convince me of anything," he whispered, "even at that age."

His watery gaze met hers as she leaned close and pressed a chaste kiss to his shoulder. He released a heavy sigh as the touch of her lips left his skin. 

As a means of distraction, Jaime began his own exploration. Grabbing her hand and turning it until her palm faced upward, he exposed a series of thin white scars marring the pale skin between her wrist and fingers.

Brienne's hand trembled in his grasp, thinking back to their source. "Septa Roelle learned pretty quickly that her cruel words did little to deter me from behavior unbecoming a girl of my station." Her words dripping with contempt as she remembered the vile woman

"Her taunts began to fuel me to act out further in defiance. She decided we would start having our lessons on the West facing balcony of Evenfall Hall. That particular view overlooked the stables and the armory where Ser Goodwin trained the men of Tarth to use the sword."

Brienne felt Jaime's grip tighten and looked up to find him nodding for her to continue. 

"When I would get distracted from my studies by the echoing steel below, she would demand I present my hands palm up, and proceed to take a rod and strike me until I cried out. In my stubbornness, it would often take a few attempts. She knew it would render me unable to spar for a few days and that Father would assume my hands were sore from working with Ser Goodwin on my grip."

Chin wavering, she confessed bravely, "I think she delighted in her mistreatment. The Gods had cursed her with a great beast for a charge, and she knew it her duty teach me so."

Jaime's eyes were alight with anger and bit back a curse under his breath. He brought the marred palm to his lips, the hair of his beard tickling the sensitive skin, and held her gaze as his mouth met her hand. 

"You are no great beast, my lady," he avowed, quieting her rebuke with a finger against her lips, "No matter what any bitter old septa or oathbreaking bastard says." 

She knew he thought of those japes often. The cruelty he used against her as they traveled together toward King's Landing. Brienne thought back to that first night, the once golden lion wrapped in chains, covered in mud and shit, waiting to die. Claws no longer sharp, yet lashing out at any brave enough to get close to his cage. 

Jaime had long since paid for his wrongdoings in unimaginably painful ways. She would do well to help him leave those burdens behind. 

Jaime leaned back on his forearm, watching Brienne trace patterns on his skin with her long fingertips. He winced as her hand traveled over the bruised skin of his torso. His side was tender as her hand came to rest upon a sensitive spot, where a thin scar lay hidden between his ribs. He remembered her touch as she would trace its path each night in Winterfell, the rhythm putting him to sleep as she lay curled behind him. 

He smiled at her prodding, his chest puffed out in pride. He put his hand over hers and pressed it tight to his skin. 

"When I squired for Lord Crakehall, the Kingswood Brotherhood had become quite a nuisance. King Aerys sent out a few members of his Kingsguard, and we accompanied them to the Kingswood."

He stared past her, smiling at a forgotten memory. "I was more excited than I had any right to be. Wondering how I had found myself in the company of such men. As soon as we drew our swords, my blood starting to sing, and I knew there was nothing else I wanted to do."

"I was cocky, mind you, and inexperienced," he added. Brienne pursing her lips in mock surprise at his confession.

"But I was quick, and a good study. At one point, I traded blows with the Smiling Knight," he gushed.

Brienne could see the young boy, alive with excitement, in his eyes. To stand among men of honor, to fight beside them, and be counted among them.

"I protected Lord Crakehall from Big Belly Ben, but not before one of the Brotherhood caught me with the tip of his blade. I didn't even know I had been hit, my heart was racing so fast."

His smile was contagious, and Brienne couldn't help but grin. "You were knighted soon after, yes?"

He nodded as he touched the faded scar, the first of many he would receive in service to the realm. "Ser Arthur told me all men must bleed, blood is the seal of our devotion."

His smile turned heavy, no doubt recounting the many decisions he would make as he grew in his knighthood, choices that would cause him to question the very oaths he swore to uphold. 

Jaime winced as he shifted underneath her. Thinking herself too heavy, she moved to get up.

With a hand to her lower back, he stilled her movements. 

"Just a little sore, it's not you," he whispered.

Jaime studied her face, taking in the crooked bend of her nose and the freckles that ran rampant across her cheeks, before settling upon the small scar that formed a line across her top lip. Tightening his stump around her back to pull her flush to his chest, he nuzzled the spot with his lips. Brienne could feel the building heat as he pressed closer. 

Distracting him from pursuing her further, she began to talk, recalling the events that led to the mark upon her face. 

"Father entertained many noble houses at Evenfall after mother died. Whether in an attempt to make a match for himself or me, I do not know. Most of the time, he would make sure I was kept away. He knew my disdain for court, and my appearance was offputting to many. But I remember Father introducing me to a young heir, from House Wyld, perhaps, I'm not sure."

Brienne feathered her fingers through Jaime's hair, scratching lightly at the back of his neck where his hair had grown long.

"Father told me that the boy was quite the swordsman, and it would be an honor to spar with him. I was excited, not having had much training against younger opponents, and Father was not usually so accepting of my want to practice the blade. Needless to say, as soon as the adults were out of earshot, the boy spewed vile things about me, my family, and our island. I did not wish to dishonor my Father, so I sheathed my sword and turned to walk away. I didn't get a couple of steps away when he caught the braid of my hair and twisted it around in his fist."

Brienne's grip on Jaime's hair tightened as she held her chin up and continued. "I pulled free and managed to charge him, knocking him to the ground. When he put his hands up to block me, his signet ring sliced my face."

"Father found us there. I had him pinned to the ground. Blood covering both of us. He never even asked me what happened. I was punished for provoking and attacking our guests and bringing shame to Tarth. Lord Wyld told my Father he would spread news of it among the Stormlands and, if he continued to look for a match for his daughter, he might want to hide her from view in the future."

A grim line formed on Brienne's face. "I went up to my room and decided to cut off my hair. The less a man had to use against me, the better."

Jaime thread his fingers through the thin hair at the base of her neck. Leaning in, he placed a chaste kiss to the small scar. Brienne closed her eyes, savoring the pressure of his lips on her skin. Opening his mouth ever so slightly, Jaime sought permission to deepen the kiss. Her mouth parted as he claimed her lower lip.

Jaime's hand began to roam, tugging lightly on the thin fabric that kept her body hidden from him. Uncovering her chest, Jaimie ran his palm across her breasts, the thin covering of her smallclothes separating them from his eager hand. 

Brienne rested her head on his shoulder, arching into his touch. Her breath hot on his neck, Jaime groaned as her lips made their way toward his jaw. Her thighs tightened their grip, pinning his legs between them. 

Jaime dipped his hand beneath the thin fabric covering her breasts, running his thumb over the softness, eliciting a gasp as he pinched the supple skin.

As their kisses grew more fervent, Brienne began to rock her hips, the rhythm of her body casting shadows on the tent walls, firelight flickering with the wind. 

Jaime gripped her waist, watching as her body moved over him. Her eyes were tightly shut, unaware of his intense gaze. Her limbs moved as they did in battle, muscles tightening and releasing with unbridled strength. Her chest heaving with each breath, gasping for air in the thick heat of the night. With each movement of her body, there was immense power, able to crush him under its weight. But it was tempered with gentleness, her body acutely aware of its strength. 

Her movements became labored as she pressed her forehead against his, strength waning as her weight became heavier against his body. 

Rising to meet her thrusts, he gripped her hips painfully in his grasp as she buried her face in his neck, breaths puffing rapidly against his skin.

He knew he wouldn't last long, his body desperate after being separated from her. Her moans grew audible, signaling to him that she was close. He had quickly learned she was all but silent during lovemaking, her resolve to stay quiet, a battle she fought against herself. Jaimie found pleasure in watching as her body betrayed her, giving way to cries and moans as she finally let go.

Brienne took his mouth in her own, cradling his jaw in her hands. Pouring every ounce of herself into a bruising kiss. 

He felt her legs tighten painfully, and her head drop against his shoulder, her movements becoming erratic before stilling all together. Her legs shook with her release, arms tightening around his shoulders as she let go. 

Jaime held her close, his own peak coming right after. He gripped her just as tight, gasping as his eyes rolled back. They rocked against each other softly, whispering incoherently as they came down. 

Noticing Jaimie's legs trembling from holding the weight of her body, Brienne quickly eased herself off. She blushed as she took in the sight of him. Chest still heaving, he lay against the back of the bed, lips swollen and wet, body flushed, and hair sticking up in all directions. She had done that. 

Brienne quickly retrieved a small cloth, wetting it and returning to the bed. The candlelight was slowly dying. Her eyes strained to adjust. 

She tugged on the waistband of his underclothes, "budge up," she whispered as she helped him remove the soiled garment. 

His hand gripped her forearm as he watched her gently clean him in the dim light. Moving away to change her clothes, he watched as she gathered her bedroll and placed it near the tent's entrance. 

"Brienne?" he called out. 

She hummed in response.

"Come to bed," he encouraged.

"I did not think you wished to keep me in your bed," she explained. 

"You think I wish to use you to get off and then discard you to the floors, wench?" he questioned in confusion.

"No, it's just that I hear you at night. You thrash, and you weep. You call out her name," her voice dropping to a near whisper, "I do not wish to cloud your mind further."

"Brienne, please?" he tried once more.

Ambling over to the bed, she tentatively squeezed in behind him, their bodies too big to fit on the small frame. 

He reached behind him, pulling her arm around his waist and placing it on his chest. She could feel the rapid beat of his heart against her palm. She pressed her cheek against his back and tucked her knees behind his. 

"You are right," he stated. 

"I dream of her each night," he confessed, keeping a tight grip on her hand, feeling her attempts to pull away. 

"I dream of her eyes as they stare at me in disgust after I returned without my sword hand. As I dared to step into her presence, no longer a mirror image of her beauty."

Jaime began to stroke Brienne's hand as it pressed tighter to his chest. 

"I dream of her maniacal laughter as she blew up the sept and contributed to the death of my only living child, and blame myself for not being there to prevent it."

Tears began to run unchecked as he continued.

"I dream of her sending Golden Company to Tarth, to set fire to your home and kill everyone that you hold dear, all because you chose to align yourself with me. An oathbreaker, a man without honor."

He stopped her before she could reply. "She cannot hurt me anymore, save for my dreams. You are the only thing that keeps them at bay."

"Please, Brienne," he pleads in the darkness. 

She shushes him and pulls him tighter against her body. Her fingertips beginning the familiar rhythm. Passing from one scar to the next, she feels his breathing even out as his weight sags against her. 

She continues her path across his body, each mark a memory, her hands guarding them as they pass through the night.

**Author's Note:**

> Brienne's quote, “Scars are just another kind of memory" is taken from The Light Between Oceans by M.L. Stedman


End file.
